The Other Mr Grey's Wild Ride
by amgomer
Summary: Elliot's story from Christian's adoption, to his man whore days, to his friendship with Ros Bailey & their adventures, to his relationship with Kate, with some surprises thrown in. (Follows the Mr. Grey's Wild Ride timeline)
1. Chapter 1: The Early Years

**_Author's Note: A very small preview to "The Other Mr. Grey's Wild Ride" or as I call it in my head, Elliot's Story. It's a direct tie in with Mr. Grey's Wild Ride, so you'll see Elliot as a youth, his man whore years, his friendship with Ros, his attempts to get Christian out of his shell, his relationship with Kate, and more…_**

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><p><strong><span>Chapter 1 – And So It Starts<span>**

Some people call me a man whore, while I consider myself fun loving and generous with the goods God provided. Share the wealth I say. I'm an asshole. Well at least that is what my little brother Christian would tell me I am. We'll get back to him in a bit. Yes, I will admit to screwing most of the hot blondes in and around Seattle. What can I say, I like blondes. I myself am a blonde – a six-two, two-buck, all muscle, natural blonde. Don't get me wrong ladies, brunettes and redheads are a wonderful distraction, but my perfect woman is a natural blonde, tall, leggy, and attractive, a freak in the bedroom, but most of all confident, logical, and smart. It's actually the reason I'm still single and getting laid as often as I like. I'm chasing a unicorn, but what a fucking chase it is.

Good luck finding all of those traits in one woman and then have them put up with me – Elliot Grey. According to the newspapers I'm the guy living in his younger brother's shadow. I laugh at that. I really do, mainly because I'd made my first ten million with Grey Construction before Christian even dropped out of Harvard. My company is worth over one hundred million now, so it's not too shabby. Besides, I see the hours my billionaire brother puts in and I'm sorry – I need my down and dirty freak time.

Frankly, I don't give a flying fuck what the media say about me. I'm just a well-educated, hardworking, blue-collar guy. I'm financially well off even without my yet untouched trust funds, and I'm pushing thirty. The media can pick on me all they want as Christian's older brother, but if they fuck with him, well, I'll fuck them back twice as hard. After all, I'm good at all manner of fucking, not just the sexual kind. I consider myself a well-adjusted guy who likes to have a good time. I work, hang out with the guys, get laid, and religiously use my season tickets to the Seahawks, Mariners, and the Sounders. If I could drag Christian away from his job occasionally, I'd make his sorry ass come with me to the games.

Yes, I'll admit it. I'm protective of my baby brother, even more so than of my baby sister Mia. More to come on her in a bit. I was six when Christian was brought home and adopted by my parents. I knew I was adopted at that point and hell, I was happy as a pig in shit being a Grey. All these years later and I'm still thrilled. Don't get me wrong, I remember my birth parents and how it felt when they died in the accident, but I also knew the Greys' as they were my parents' friends. It was natural that they adopted me when I was four. I'm lucky. I had two sets of the best parents ever.

They day they brought Christian home was challenging for me. Here was this little ginger kid who didn't talk, always looked terrified, and was tiny considering his age. My parents prepared me for his arrival, telling me that he was four, but was really small for his age and had a hard time in life, but that's it. I mean, what do you tell a six year old – _this is your new little brother Christian and some motherfucker abused him and made him his own personal ashtray_. I don't think so.

What freaked me out the most was the not talking. Yes, Christian wore every emotion on his sleeve and had major night terrors, but those things I could relate to as when my parents died, I had those same feelings and nightmares. The not talking though really did a number on my head because most people that know me pray I'll actually shut my fucking mouth. I've always been this way, so I couldn't fathom the not talking on Christian's part. Okay, the not touching part also was unnerving.

I remember my mom trying to fatten him up. Here was this scrawny kid who could eat his weight in macaroni and cheese, yet it felt like forever until we noticed a difference. Even as a kid I loved food, yet seeing Christian every morning at breakfast enjoying things I took for granted – a home-cooked meal, hell a meal in general made me sneak him slices of my bacon and toast every morning. It would always earn me a smile from him. Mom always smiled at me when she caught me, then gave me bacon off her plate.

I remember feeling particularly frustrated with the not talking bit after a week of him living with us, so I grabbed his hand, ignored his struggling to pull away, and dragged him into my room. We spent the next hour making signs on index cards I took from our dad's office to help Christian communicate. We drew pictures of different foods, the bathroom, outside, television, books, cars, planes, the swing set outside, different toys, and bed so it was easier for him to tell me what he wanted to do. That was the first day we felt like brothers. Gone was his frustration with me when I didn't understand him and we ended up playing all day and had a blast.

Looking back, it felt like the true beginning of our new, expanded family.

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><p><em><strong>Next Chapter and full story start next weekend once Mr. Grey's Wild Ride is completed.<strong>_


	2. Chapter 2: And Mia Makes Three

**Chapter 2 – And Mia Makes Three**

As I recall, before Christian joining our family we were somewhat unstructured. There wasn't a set dinnertime as mom and dad's schedules had them working late fairly regularly. The only real structure I had involved bedtime, study time, and wake up time. When Christian arrived, everything changed. With his adoption finalized, we moved from Detroit to Seattle. Mom took a year off from work to help us adjust to the new house and that's where her new schedule came in, as mom said the two things Christian needed most were love and structure.

Breakfast was always at seven and we always started our day together. Christian and I had snack time at ten, followed by lunch at one, snack again at four, and dinner at seven. There was playtime, study time, quiet time, and television time. And yes, I fought them tooth and nail back then. I can look back now and completely understand that it was this structure that taught me to work hard and schedule in playtime so I could go bat shit crazy.

It took a while for Christian to adapt to the new schedule. I think my favorite time was after dinner playtime, or as mom called it, 'run your brother ragged so he sleeps time'. He might not have talked back then, but we'd go outside with dad and he'd teach us to play catch, hit a ball, climb on the monkey bars in the back yard, or if it was warm enough, dipping our feet in the water. On warm rainy nights, when there wasn't any thunder or lightening, mom let us put our bathing suits on and play in the rain, and then right before we came into the house, she'd hand us a bottle of kids shampoo and we'd shower outside in our swim trunks.

Even though Christian and I had our system of cards to help him communicate, which we added to regularly, he still had outbursts where he screamed in frustration. There were few times he was frustrated with me, but when he was, he was a scary little shit. I still remember the first time Christian hit me after we moved to Seattle. Mom was at the store and Dad was fit to be tied as he wasn't sure how to defuse the situation. Finally he took Christian and I by the hands and led us down the basement. Christian panicked, while I was excited. I knew what was down there – dad's gym. I mean, I knew every inch of the new house as in the first weeks we lived there, I'd get out of bed during the night, grab dad's emergency flashlight and explore.

That day in my mind was one of the best by far. Dad had a pair of boxing gloves for each of us and taught us how to hit the punching bag. Looking back now I realize we barely moved it, but back then we felt grown up. Every time Christian threw a tantrum with Dad, into the basement he'd go and take it out on the punching bag. By the time his nervous energy was gone, he was flushed and sweaty but grinning from ear-to-ear.

When the school year began I didn't want to leave Christian. Mom explained with his issues he wasn't ready for school just yet, so they'd walk me to the school bus and pick me up each day. It felt good to see Christian pout when I got on the bus in the morning because I knew he'd miss me, but it felt amazing getting off the bus in the afternoon because he was always happily waiting for me with Mom.

Our after school routine was set – I'd get home, sit at the kitchen table while we had a snack and I did my homework. It was the first time Mom realized that there was more to Christian than met the eye. Mom worked with both of us on the alphabet, numbers, and writing words, but when my math homework included addition and subtraction, Christian always got the answers before I did, which amazed me because I was and still am really good at math. My little brother was _Rainman_.

When it came to reading, we couldn't be sure if he could read because he wouldn't talk. They had a speech therapist come in and work with him but it didn't help. I remember showing Christian my red Hot Wheels car and asking him to write what it was, but even back then he was a smart ass, because he wrote the word _'NO'_, took the car from my hand and ran out of the room.

We went on like that for two fucking years, but one day our parents sat us down and announced that we were getting a baby sister soon. I remember not wanting a baby sister back then because my friend James had a new baby sister and according to him she just cried, pooped, puked, and slept, so he had to be quiet. Christian and I stared at the front door and waited. To us back then soon meant minutes, when in reality it was a month away. Yet every morning Christian sat by the door, watching and waiting every time Mom and Dad went out together. His grey eyes for once were filled with excitement. It was a great sight, even looking back on it now.

The day Mia came home everything changed in a virtual instant. I went from not wanting a sister to grinning at her like a loon. I remember it vividly as Mom walked into the living room holding Mia, who was bigger than an infant but not yet a toddler. Dad had a baby bag on his shoulder and a large stuffed teddy bear in his arms. Mia's dark hair fascinated me, as I never had anyone in my family before with black hair.

When Mom put her on the living room carpet, she sat there happily glancing at each of us in her little pink dress and baby tiara. Christian sat on his knees in front of her and stared at her in wonder for what felt like an eternity. When he looked at Mom and smiled, she informed us that her name was Mia and we needed to be careful with her because she's a baby.

"Mia," I remember saying and her little brown eyes lit up as she looked at me happily and bounced up and down on her butt. She was adorable.

And then we heard it, barely a whisper but we all heard it – "Mia," Christian whispered to her, then pointed to himself and whispered, "Christian" causing Mia to bounce faster and laugh with glee.

I'll always remember that exact moment because Mom and Dad had tears in their eyes, Mia bouncing like a little lunatic and I said what was on my mind, "For two years you couldn't talk to me, but you talk to her?" Yeah, I wasn't happy about it, especially when Christian shrugged.

That was the end of his, what I now understand to be, self-imposed silence. It became Mia this and Mia that; or Elliot it's mine, or Elliot I'm telling. Sometimes I wished for silence again. Not really. Okay maybe only at strategically placed times.

And now back to Mia - They say it takes women minutes to wrap guys around their delicate fingers. I can tell you right now, beyond a shadow of a doubt, it's an innate talent girls are born with because I'll be damned if within five minutes of her sitting on that carpet as a six month old, Christian and I were doomed to acquiesce to everything and anything she wanted. It's a pattern that continues to this very day. Our lives revolve around Mia's every time she snaps her fingers – and snap them she does and Christian loves every minute of it even as an adult.

See, I'm off course again, now back to our childhood in Bellevue. Who'd have thought with Mia came some semblance of normalcy? Yet it did. Don't get me wrong it wasn't perfect. Christian still had issues surrounding touch or really participating in family activities. He always held himself back to a certain degree. Mia was the only one who could hug him. It was probably because she was smaller than him, but she hugged him all the time. It's almost as if this little princess knew what he needed. I smile just visualizing those days. Yeah, I'm a sap. I know.

The family continued on this way until Christian hit puberty. I mean, how does a dude survive puberty if no one can touch him? I touched every girl I could in school and they willingly touched me right back if you know what I mean. It was the best feeling ever.

My head, okay heads, are still reeling trying to imagine going through puberty without touch, but I won't desecrate the purity that is Mia's arrival with discussion of my debauchery and Christian's lack thereof. Yeah, my next chapter in the yarn that is my life takes my story from G to R, then after that NC-17 … okay sometimes X. Get over it, I'm a man who has satisfied his needs and loves reliving the details. I won't apologize for that.

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><p><strong><em>Author's Note: Chapters get longer after this one and our rating shifts evil grin<em>**


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